


Mutual Benefit

by gottageekout



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, Massage, POV Hank Anderson, Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 03:41:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,386
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16468007
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottageekout/pseuds/gottageekout
Summary: Hank's back is a mess.Connor's got a program downloaded for that.





	Mutual Benefit

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sichi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sichi/gifts).



> This is just a little, fun thing I had to write seeing [a tweet](https://twitter.com/RKsoGAY/status/1057276958487105537) recently. I hope you forgive me for the lack of a foot massage, I've never had one, hah.
> 
> Find me over in Twitter Jericho hell: [@dathankconlife](https://twitter.com/dathankconlife)

“Are…are you sure you know what you’re doing?”

 

Hank is sitting on the bed, watching Connor as stands in the doorframe. What had started as a single, stray complaint about how bad his back was hurting turned into whatever is about to happen right now. The android had insisted he could take care of that problem. Hank had insisted it was fine. Connor won the argument because he _always_ did when he got like this, especially when Hank was too tired after a long, stressful string of work days to argue with him. The less of a fight he puts up, the sooner he can pass out until his body decides to wake him up the next day. It’s a day off, finally, and he fully intends on relaxing tomorrow.

 

But first, well, this.

 

Which also should be relaxing, or so he hopes. If he’s being honest, he’s getting just _slightly_ uneasy now, having been given enough time to think about what he’s agreed to let Connor do. He’s just not sure what exactly to expect, especially because he doubts he came with a fucking _massage giving_ protocol.

 

“You have nothing to be concerned about, Hank. When we decided to start a relationship, I took it upon myself to research and preload some programs I thought might be required at some point for our mutual benefit - I can give you quite a few different massages, in fact. I picked ones that seemed appropriate at the time,” he explains plainly, as if he isn’t currently just admitting to uploading a bunch of shit into his head specifically because of him.

 

Mutual fucking benefit. Christ. He stares up at Connor, slack jawed. “What.”

 

The response earns him an innocent head tilt. He rolls up the sleeves of his work shirt neatly as he continues, “I admit I’ve been looking forward to the day I’d be able to try one of them. I do enjoy touching you quite a bit, if you haven’t noticed.”

 

The little shit had to know what he was doing to him, saying something that pointed. Despite the exhaustion and pain weighing him down like a ton of bricks, he feels the prickling of arousal at the admittance and the way Connor watches his reaction as he loosens his tie. A small smile lifts on his face slowly and yeah, there it is, the fucker knows. Smug bastard. He does not tease him, at least, wordlessly letting the tie fall to the wayside and toeing off his shoes before sliding into bed with him, long legs straddling his waist. This, at least, is familiar, and Hank pulls him closer to kiss the smile that’s practically a smirk off his face. Connor allows it but halts him when he starts to try to deepen it, hand resting on his chest as he leans away.

 

“Con,” he murmurs in that low, growly sort of way he knows he likes. There’s a small stutter of yellow in his light and its Hank turn to be smug. Still, it remains only a blip, and Connor is resolute.

 

“Let’s get this off you,” he requests, tugging at the old shirt he’d thrown on because unlike Connor, there’d been no way in hell he was going to hang around in his work clothes once they'd gotten home earlier.

 

He pulls a disappointed face but cooperates, helping Connor tug the shirt up over his head. They sit there a moment and fuck, if he doesn’t automatically feel a little self-conscious as the android runs his gaze down his body. It’s not that – it’s not that they haven’t _done_ other shit before, but by this point of the night, he’s usually got way more distraction and there’s a little too many lights on right now. Connor seems to notice his discomfort and his smile falls.

 

“...Your stress levels are rising. I hope you know I wouldn’t offer this if I wasn’t sure I could do this,” he reassures, eyebrows knitting. There’s some approximation of hurt on his face and Hank hates he’s causing this misunderstanding.

 

“No, no, it’s not that that, just –“ he starts, then falters. He’s being a fucking idiot is what’s happening, but he knows Connor disproves of him talking badly about himself, so he tries to meet him halfway. “Sorry, getting hung up on shit.”

 

Connor makes a quiet humming noise, drawing him close again, pressing his lips to his briefly before letting his head come to rest against Hank’s forehead. It’s a simple, quiet gesture, but there’s something about it that’s grounding every time he does it.

 

“It’s alright. Relax, let me take care of you,” he coaxes softly, and Hank feels a constriction in his chest. As much as there’s a not insignificant amount of his brain trying to ruin this shit, he convinces himself to let Connor run the show and resolves to just be grateful he's not as much of a judgmental asshole as he is to himself.

 

It doesn’t take long for Connor to get him situated how he needs him to be, stuffing a few pillows underneath him in what he assumes are strategic spots in the program he's apparently following.

 

“I don’t have oil this time,” he informs him apologetically, as if Hank was laying there right now _expecting_ him to pull that shit out like something out of a shitty romance movie. Despite how awkward he still feels, he can’t help but huff out a laugh.

 

“I think I can survive without it,” he deadpans, glancing back at him over his shoulder. He legitimately seems disappointed in himself for not doing this perfectly, LED circling yellow. “Fuck, do I need to tell _you_ to relax now? Just offering is a fucking lot, don’t worry about it.”

 

The reassurance seems to do the trick, because he eases back to blue as the words sink in and nods his head once.

 

“I am going to try to compensate regardless by trying something. Let me know if there’s any discomfort at any point, okay?” he requests in what would be an ominous fucking way if Hank didn’t know Connor.

 

He does consider asking what he’s going to do to _replace_ oil but decides no, that is the last fucking thing he is wants to know. This feels like one of those android things that it’s better Connor just _does_ without going into too much detail as to how it all works.

 

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll let you know,” he responds instead, turning back to rest his head properly on the pillow.

 

Silence falls between them again. Hank’s about to ask Connor if he’s going to start sometime tonight when he feels him place his hand flat on one side of his back. The sudden warmth – far warmer than his hand has ever been before – makes him jump a little.

 

“What the hell?” he exhales, turning his head to look over at him again. His eyes are drawn immediately to his starkly white, shiny hands. In the time he'd been looking away, he apparently deactivated his synthetic skin up to just under his wrist.

 

“Too hot?” he worries, again seeming to _completely_ miss why Hank had reacted in the first place.

 

“Did you heat up your hands?” he asks, realizing how ridiculous the question sounds the second it leaves his mouth.

 

Except, of course, it’s not ridiculous at all.

 

“Yes. I thought it might help relax the muscles in lieu of the oil,” confirms Connor, schooling his expression into something neutral. Hank tempers his reaction as best he can, knowing full well that it’s still rare for him to flat out show the android side of himself in such an obvious way. It’s fucking weird but – shit, his weirdness is and always has been part of his charm. Tendency to lick shit at crime scenes aside, there’s not really anything that’s been a turn off so far.

 

“Shit, that’s a hell of a trick,” he settles on, hoping it makes it clear he approves. Connor’s lips twitch upwards at the comment, and, satisfied he got his message across, Hank returns to lying flat.

 

Connor turns out to be right, turns out, too. There’s something about the mixture of the warmth emanating from him and the unyielding nature of his true, uncovered hands that have him practically melting under his ministrations within minutes. By the time he starts pressing his knuckles up to the right of his spine, he can’t bite back the groan of approval when he hits a particularly tight spot on his upper back.

 

“Feel good?” he hears him ask, and it’s obvious he is pleased with himself.

 

“Holy shit, yes,” he confirms, sighing contently when he feels him pause where he’d reacted and start to work the knot out with gentle pressure.

 

“It’s no real wonder why you’ve been in such pain lately. Your back is a mess,” he comments idly. There’s a shifting of movement on the mattress and suddenly he’s at the head of the bed now, his knees at either side of Hank’s head. He tilts his chin up to look up at him.

 

“Head down,” he scolds gently, amused.

 

“Can’t a guy enjoy a good view for a second?” he teases with a wicked look. He listens, though, face pressing back into the pillow. “And yeah, tell me about it. Christ, I’m getting old.”

 

Connor starts making firm, gentle strokes with his thumbs. “Nonsense. I was just thinking I’ll have to do this more often now that I can see it’s an issue.”

 

Hank snorts at that. Get used to feeling this boneless more often? What a goddamn hardship.

 

“Is…is there shit I can do for you?” he asks, trying not to be a completely selfish asshole.

 

Connor doesn’t answer at first, which Hank takes as him considering it. “Most of the benefits of a massage is lost on me.”

 

A beat.

 

“You are, however, always welcome to extensively touch me too. It’s pleasant. I like how rough your fingers are,” he muses airily, and Hank doesn’t need to see his face to know he’s got a shit-eating smile on his face.

 

Fucking hell, the android would be the death of him.

 

* * *

 

Hank has no idea when he passed out. He’s vaguely aware the last thing he remembers is Connor working on his lower back and now the sun is bright and annoying and shining in his eyes like a giant asshole beacon, reminding him he’s not even allowed to sleep in on his day off. It’s hard to be too grouchy, though, because holy shit, he doesn’t _remember_ the last time he woke up not in _some_ sort of pain.

 

At some point the night before, Connor must’ve gotten up, gotten ready for bed, and put himself in stasis beside him. He’s still out, his arm flung around Hank's midsection haphazardly, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. There’s a moment Hank just stares at him, the warm feeling of affection just seeing him impossible to ignore. It’s sappy as fuck and he doesn’t know how to deal with it at all yet, but it doesn’t freak him out like he keeps waiting for it to do. Hard not to take that shit as a good sign.

 

He shifts a little until he’s laying on his side, facing him. A thought crosses his mind, one he’s yet to try, and he reaches over and starts to gently run his fingers against his features, ghosting against his cheek and tracing the line of his jaw. He keeps an eye on the spinning yellow light at his temple, waiting and seeing. It takes a few moments, but he watches it slowly shift to blue. His eyes open not long after, eyes coming to focus on his face. His smile lifts slowly, almost as though he’s half-asleep, but he imagines is just a small lag in his system as everything starts to, for the lack of a better word, boot up.

 

“Huh. You felt what I was just doing?” he wonders, his hand running down the side of his neck. Connor exhales a pleased sounding sigh, tilting his head to the side to give him better access.

 

“...Yes, I’ve set myself to automatically respond to touch, just in case,” he murmurs, sounding hilariously distracted. Hank is trying and failing to hide him smile. “Good morning, by the way. Did you – _ah_ \- enjoy last night? You fell asleep, I thought it might be a good sign.”

 

That little hitch happens when he runs a calloused finger along the bottom of his neck, where he knows there’s a seam underneath his skin.

 

“Yeah, good morning to you too. Shit, Con, it was fucking amazing,” he confirms, considering joking but wanting to make sure Connor understood just how good he has him feeling. He’s gotten to know him well enough to know how important it is for him to not fuck up, even if there’s very little he could do to disappoint him. “I was just thinking it’s a damn shame I fell asleep before the end of it. Especially since I remember you making a pretty specific request to thank you.”

 

His hand is starting to trail downwards, smoothing against his bicep and coming to rest over where he knows his thirium pump is. He can feel some amount of vibration underneath his palm, the approximation of his heartbeat.

 

“Well,” he starts, trying his damndest to not react. Hank knows what he looks like when he’s trying to control himself, though, especially with those little blips of yellow. “We don’t have work today.”

 

“We don’t,” he agrees, rubbing his thumb against him in a slow, deliberate circle. Connor squirms a little, pressing into his hand.

 

“I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to see your massage methods,” he continues, sensibly, though there is a slight but audible warble to the last word he says, because Hank’s already guiding him onto his back. He doesn’t speak again until settled and staring up at him, looking at him in a way that’s making Hank’s own heart stutter right now. “…Compare notes?”

 

“Sounds like a plan,” he agrees with a low, throaty chuckle, leaning down to capture his mouth.

 

He has a few tricks up his sleeves too, program or no, that he's looking forward to showing him.


End file.
